Poc chuc is one of the few Yucatecan dishes whose name says exactly what happens to it. The words are Maya and refer to roasting over embers, which is the whole method: pork sliced thin, given a short bath in sour orange and salt, then laid on a grate over charcoal until the edges blacken. Everything else on the plate is a condiment. Its rise as a restaurant dish is usually traced to the mid twentieth century, and the restaurant Los Almendros is commonly credited with putting it on menus beyond the villages, though grilling salted pork over coals is far older than any menu.

Around here it is lunch food. It turns up at the roadside grills on the Mérida road, at Sunday tables when someone has a sack of charcoal, and at the kind of family restaurant where the plate arrives with black beans on one side and a stack of tortillas wrapped in cloth. Nobody eats it late. It wants daylight, a cold drink and enough people to finish the tortillas while they are still warm.

The taste is simpler than the ingredient list suggests. Sour orange is not lime. It is rounder, a little bitter, closer to bergamot in the nose, and it leaves the pork tasting faintly sweet rather than sharp. Against that you get the smoke and salt of the char, the pickled onion supplying acid and crunch, and chiltomate supplying the heat: roasted tomato crushed with a roasted habanero, nothing more, so it is sweet and smoky before it burns. The four things are meant to be eaten together in a taco, not tasted separately.

Two mistakes are common. The first is marinating the pork overnight, which turns the surface pale and slightly mealy and kills the point of a quick sear; thirty minutes to an hour is plenty for meat this thin. The second is treating chiltomate as a cooked salsa with fried onion and garlic and a splash of vinegar. It is roasted tomato, and it should be a little lumpy. A third, less forgivable, is cutting the pork thick. If it needs more than a couple of minutes a side it is the wrong thickness.